


History

by PoppyLoppyZoppy



Category: Klondike (TV)
Genre: Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Dirty Talk, F/M, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Rough Sex, evil mustache porn, pure filth
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-01-10
Updated: 2017-02-04
Packaged: 2018-09-16 13:32:22
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,994
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9274148
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PoppyLoppyZoppy/pseuds/PoppyLoppyZoppy
Summary: Belinda decides to give in and relive some of her history with the Count.





	1. Part One

**Author's Note:**

> It's absolutely ridiculous that I have to keep calling him 'The Count'. Enjoy.

He has my wrists pinned. My body crushed beneath his, his face low, hanging over mine, watching me with eerily calm, green eyes. My heart is hammering in my chest, my throat is tight with a whimper, but it won't come out. I can't move except to turn my face just slightly away from his. He's so close that when he moves an inch to keep invading my space, I can feel the prickle of his mustache brush my top lip. I turn away again, pinching my eyes shut, but he dips down even lower and his nose brushes my jaw and up my cheek as he inhales slowly, making me cringe. The way he moved just then shifted his hips against mine, nestled his hard length into my center, makes the whimper finally echo out of my throat. I'm throbbing where he's pressed into me.  
“Look at me,” he murmurs, and his breath is hot on my ear. “Look at me!”  
His shout and the way he suddenly twists my wrists makes me yelp. I'm looking at him again, so close to me, his eyes so calm though his teeth are bared. He pulls back a bit. I suck in a breath. The Count forces a knee between my shaking legs and shoves them apart. He moves his hips, shifting so that his length prods at me. It shakes me from my stupor and I suddenly strain at his hold on my wrists, and try to kick but he has me held tightly; I only end up wriggling and pressing myself against his cock, creating friction. He chuckles and it turns into a low hum.  
“Hm hm mm... you know I love it when you fight it Bells.” He rocks against me, and I whimper again and my lips part. He's close to me again. His nose brushes my cheek. I'm lifting my face, letting my eyes drift shut, hoping he'll kiss me. He drifts closer, I can feel him there and his breath on me, then he's stretching my arms above my head, putting them together and pinning them under only one hand. I don't open my eyes again until the other hand twists in my hair, painfully, and makes me cry out.  
“Keep... your god-damn eyes... open,” he hisses. And as he says it, he moves his cock against me, tugging on my hair. “You came to me.” He keeps rocking in hard motions, and the fabric of my pants rubbing my clit is making me throb, but it's not getting me anywhere. “Are you imagining you're with him right now? Pretty-Boy? Haskell?” He's still moving, and pulling on my hair, tilting my head back, exposing my neck that he places a sudden bite to. “You feel like a savage around him, because you belong here. You come to me, because we both belong here.” His voice is a rasp, he's staring straight into my eyes as he goes on pummelling into me, and it's amping up the sensations ringing down into my legs, and up my back, making me clench all over. It's incomprehensibly pleasurable but it's hurting my hips, my wrists, and where I'm most sensitive.  
I'm shaking and whimpering and my voice isn't my own anymore, it's getting higher and turning into a whine. I can't believe it, but I'm about to come just from him moving against me, both of us fully clothed.  
But he stops before I can get there. He just freezes, looking down at me. I wriggle under him and plead with my eyes, biting my lip. But the Count pulls my arms down, moves to one side of me and drags me closer, forcing me onto my front. He twists my arms behind my back, and I lay my face down, looking over one shoulder, letting him do it just for the pleasure radiating out from between my thighs. He yanks my black, leather pants down, past my knees.  
“He doesn't make you feel small, and soft, and good by comparison.”  
With one hand he lifts me at the hips, taking me up to my knees, but keeping my hands pinned and my face pressed down into the bed. With my nether regions bare and offered up to him, I wait. The Count's eyes are burning into mine. He runs a hand up the inside of my thigh, up over my slit, collecting the wetness there on his fingertips. And then his hand keeps wandering, he palms my ass. His hand is warm, but calloused. I feel like I'm made of liquid. One finger drifts to my tight pucker, and then he's pushing it into me, working up to the knuckle.  
I try to relax against the invasion, but before I'm ready he's moving up to two fingers, stretching my ring of muscle open, and I'm making a low, grieved noise. My shoulders are aching, I'm stretched numb all over, but between my legs is a pulsing wave of want.  
“He doesn't make you mewl like a little kitten.”  
A bead of sweat rolls down the slope of my body, from the small of my back, to between my shoulder blades. I'm shocked when he follows the trail with his tongue, placing a long, wet lick along my spine. I'm thinking, then, If only he would use his lips, just use his lips, and press, I'm sure I'll come just from that elusive thing. The only thing he hasn't ever given me. It makes shivers roll out all over me, and he's pushing and pulling his fingers in and out of my ass, moving his whole body with the thrusts now, his eyes still baring down on me. I swallow hard. My throat is raw with that keening noise I'm making, trying to choke back.  
The Count stops again, and removes his fingers from me. With his free hand he undoes his gun belt, then his pants. He leaves me waiting. I can see his face, his eyes, now focused on the round curves of my ass, but I can't see him stroking himself behind me. I can only see him moving with his strokes, can feel the tip of his cock brush over my thigh, leaving another wet trail. He guides himself to rub my clit and gives a little push, and it's almost enough to push me over again. I gasp. He twists my wrists harder behind me and I cry out.  
“Don't you dare. Not until I'm inside you, then you can come all you like...” He starts stroking again, brushing the tip against my clit as he thrusts into his own fist, whispering, rambling, “But just know… no matter how sensitive you get… no matter how much you beg... I'm not stopping. Not until I've drained every drop into you.”  
He decides he's ready, must be, because the next second he's lining himself up against my opening, sliding his tip through the wet heat, but still not entering me. He changes his mind, puts his cock against my ass and shoves it in, all at once, and I scream, arching my back, all my muscles clenching around him instantly as he stills at the end of his thrust; stretching me open, reaching deep inside me and enjoying the feeling of me clenching around him as I'm coming and coming and my scream dies down to that pitiful whine again. My eyes are watering. I can feel my own wetness starting to drip down my thighs.  
“He doesn't make you come like I do,” the Count says, and his tone has turned oddly blasé. He's giving me a moment, studying me like he finds me curious, and probably I am. I can't focus; my head is spinning, my body is ringing. He shrugs. “Hm. Anyway. Let's get started...”  
I wake all at once and my hand shoots to my chest. My bedroom is empty. My bed is empty. My body isn't ringing, I haven't just come. The only thing that feels clear was my mind.  
The fire is crackling a few feet away. I get up and move to my window, which looks out over the main road in Dawson City. Across the street and down just a few buildings, the inn is still humming with stumbling drunks and the faint chimes of music coming from within. The Count's room is on the top floor, on the west corner. His light is one of the few still burning on the upper levels.  
My head is clear. It has been years, but I haven't forgotten. And since he has been back in town I have been having these dreams every other night. They wake me and they keep me up, they pop into my head when I need to focus. I need to stay this clear, if I'm going to beat him to the hotel, to running the town. I want him, tonight, and I don't care what it's going to cost me.


	2. Part Two

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Good Stuff.

I dress up nicely but quickly. Fresh leather pants and a white blouse, and a black jacket over top of it. I want to look good but I don't want him to turn out his light and go to bed before I can get to him. I bring my gun from the case on the mantel, just because I can. And then I leave my house and cross the street, heading past a few stumbling drunks on my way inside. Things are winding down in the saloon. A few tables still going but others already wiped down and chairs turned over on top.  
One of the Count's men, the tall, black man with the very distinctive gaze, stands from his table near the stairs when he sees me. The other two playing poker there follow his suit. One tips his hat to me.  
“Miss Mulrooney,” the first says.  
“Yes. Hello,” I say, keeping my voice level even though I'm prickling with embarrassment and my whole body is pulsing with anticipation. “I'm going to see the Count.”  
I took a step but he put out a hand, and he's touching my shoulder, but he withdraws his hand instantly, thinking better of it.  
“Can't let you up. I can go up. I'll bring him down if he wants to see you.”  
I tilt my head to tell him to go on and do it, then. He heads up the stairs and I know that people are beginning to watch us. Some of them even move away to a further table, drinks and cards and all. But they keep watching.  
Both of the Count's other men are still standing, arms crossed, watching me.  
I'm going to be a joke to those men, tomorrow. And all his other men, too. And all the other men in town. I'm used to limericks and catcalls but this will be something else entirely. I'll be a laughing stock. And the example I'll be setting for the other women, for the girls in town, for a moment makes me consider turning and leaving.  
But then he's there, following his man down the stairs. All the glory of him, his suit, his mustache, his silly hat that he wears so surely as if he belongs here, and I know I'm caught. Caught, again, and it's the most delicious anticipation I feel.  
He stops near the bottom of the stairs, so that he's looking down on me. His man joins the other three, watching me with those curious eyes of his.  
Count says, “Hello Belinda.”  
I nod to him, lips pressed tight, jaw set, chin jutting out.  
“Well? You've come to make me an offer? Let's hear it.”  
He knows why I'm here, I can see it in his eyes. “Upstairs,” I say, taking the first step up to move past him.  
He puts out a hand and just the tips of his fingers prod the hollow of my chest, and stop me. “No. Right here will do, just fine. Go on.”  
I step back down, move to the recently vacated table, one off from the one where his men have sat back down and only glance occasionally at us. He sits across from me. Adjusts his hat with a steady hand.  
I can feel my hands shaking even as I squeeze them together under the table. “So what now?” I steal a glance around.  
“You tell me. What is it that you want?”  
I see the hunger in his eyes and know he wants me but I know he's going to make me work for it, too. I feel a dark thrill in me as I murmur the words, “I want us to go upstairs.”  
“Yes, but I want us to stay right here, with my bodyguards.” He jerks a thumb over his shoulder at the three at the table behind him. “Where they can protect me from you.”  
They chuckle obligingly.  
The Count says, leveling his words as good as if he were leveling a pistol across the table at me, “So tell me plainly… spell it out… what is it that you want from me, Belinda?”  
I sit up straighter, building myself up, and then lean closer. “I want you to take me upstairs.”  
“What for?” he plays clueless, glancing around at people pretending not to be watching. “I can't fathom it. Here we have chairs, a table, security of a public place. All I have upstairs is a bed, little dresser... nice details, French make, I think-.”  
“-What do you want? Do you want me to beg?”  
“No,” he says. “But you want to beg, I think. Or else you wouldn't be here, you would be keeping time with Bill Haskell again. So go on and do it, whenever you're ready. I'm at your disposal.” He leans back and kicks a foot up on the chair to one side, and waits.  
I lick my lips. The shame is delicious, he's right. “...Take me upstairs, please.”  
“Bit louder.”  
But my voice only gets breathier. “Take me… upstairs-.”  
“-Pathetic.”  
“-Please,” I sputter, and I look around. I can feel a glow in my cheeks.  
He watches me with burning eyes for a long moment, then swings his leg down, stands and said, “Alright.”  
I jump to my feet and start for the stairs, but the Count catches me around the side of the table and drags me back over to him, and my legs are so tense that at the feeling of him grabbing my arms, then a hand on my hip, I go weak. We almost topple over and almost take the table with us, shoving it back a few inches, scraping its legs across the wooden floor. A little yelping noise comes out of me, and it draws the attention of every person in the room.  
“-Hold on!” the Count calls, wrapping an arm around my middle, pulling my ass against his hips. “What's the rush? Why so eager?” his whiskers tickle my neck, his breath washes over me and its as good as if he were sucking on the skin there. “You wanted to come here, you wanted to beg me, you wanted all these people to see me take you upstairs, and hear you screaming, and know you were getting fucked. Why don't we just drop the pretense of it?”  
All the other conversations are quiet. I'm sure everyone in the place can hear my gasp as his hand works down from the collar of my shirt and squeezes my breast. He spreads my legs with one of his. His mouth moves to my ear and I can feel his lips, he's whispering so close.  
“I could bend you over this table, right now. I could fuck you in front of all these people. I bet you'd love that. I bet they would. Do you think they can smell you already, like I can?”  
His rough fingers are twisting my nipple and I'm throbbing between my legs, afraid he'll do it, afraid he won't.  
He leaves me like that for a long moment, then finally decides against it, releases my breast and gives me a hard shove toward the stairs.  
“Forget it. I don't wanna have to kill them all for looking at you. Get upstairs, go.”  
I can hardly breathe, my legs feel like rubber, but I hurry to climb those steps and turn the corner. He follows, slowly, and the hum of conversation starts up again downstairs.  
He points when I look back. “That door.”  
I fling it open and burst inside, the small room, bed with white sheets and covers, dresser with a mirror. I turn back and wait as he comes sauntering over, stopping just inside, closing the door.  
I throw myself at him, going for his lips, single-minded about that one thing. I'm going to get my kiss.  
But though I take him by surprise and I get close enough that tour teeth click together a bit painfully, the next moment he has my face in his hands and he's turning me and shoving me up against the door.  
“What's this?”  
My hands are still free, and I reach out and grab him by the jacket, dragging him closer and straining against his grip on my face, and almost reaching his lips again. He pushes me back, hard.  
“I want it,” I say, finding my voice stronger than it has been all night. “I've given you everything, that's what I want, now.”  
“A kiss?” he mocks. “That's what you want?”  
I nod.  
He smiles an amused little smile. “I'll tell you what… I'll give you your kiss. If you're a good girl.”  
“I'll be a good girl,” I murmur. My hands are still free, and already on his chest, I press and start to tug his shirt open.  
He slaps me lightly across the face; it doesn't hurt but it startles me into letting my mouth fall open. Instantly I know that he is not going to go easy on me. He's going to make me work for it.  
“Did I say you could touch me?”  
He pins my arms hard enough that his hands will leave bruises, and I can't stop the little moan that echoes out of my chest at the feeling of being slammed back into the wall. It's something solid, something I haven't felt in a long time, the anticipation of knowing I'm about to be completely defiled and also completely satisfied. It sends a ringing out through my entire body.  
His hips are tight against mine, too, and for a minute he just holds us there, like that, watching me.  
“Alright, then.” He lets me go. “Get on your knees.”  
I instantly drop, and begin to reach up when I remember the slap, the slight sting left on my cheek, and pause. I look up at him.  
“Go on.”  
I undo his belt, then his pants, and start to stroke his half-hard length to full mast. He just watches, staring at me, and I look up at him for a moment as I take him into my mouth, just the tip at first, running my tongue around the head and over the slit. He doesn't make any sound, but after a minute twists a hand in my hair and shoves his whole length down my throat. I choke and try to pull back but he just pushes forward and backs my head up against the wall, starting to thrust, hitting the back of my throat. I can hardly breathe, and my eyes pool over immediately. My hands braced on his legs can't push him back, so I only end up kneading the fabric and trying to focus on not fighting it. I steal a breath on his pull back and the shuddering gasp that lurches out of me only seem to spur him on. He starts tugging my head along faster, making me bump the wall every time he thrusts his hips.  
I look up at him, blinking quickly to let the tears spill over, because I think I know that's what he wants.  
With his free hand he brushed a few of my tears away, making an intrigued face.  
“You do want that kiss, don't you Bells? Usually takes you ages to cry.”  
I can't answer with his dick in my mouth.  
“But the thing is… it's not fun if you play along.” He draws back and tucks himself away, then turns and heads over to the table, and digs in a drawer, there. “Bed,” he says, only.  
I hurry over, and sit on the end, not sure what else to do.  
He comes back with a length of rope. It puts a fear in me.  
Sure, I've let him pin me down, push me around, but I've always known I could fight back if I really needed to. If I let him tie me up I'll be truly helpless. He could do whatever he wants, or leave me tied and bring up his men to show me off, like he threatened to do downstairs.  
But it excites me as much as it scares me.  
“Hands,” he says, and I offer my hands to him, which he then binds tightly.  
The Count gives a hard shove and I hit the bed a moment later. He strips off his shirt, then leans over and rips mine open, pushing my jacket away from my chest. He bows down over me and latches onto one of my nipples, flicking it with his tongue, scraping it with his teeth. His mustache tickles and prickles me.  
And while his mouth is on me, his hand works down the front of my pants and he hooks a finger into me, pushing it as deep as he can, stroking my walls while pressing his thumb against my clitoris.  
He stops to yank my pants down and then undoes his own, looks at me for a second and then reaches up to grab onto my throat. I gasp, then he begins to squeeze, not enough to suffocate me but enough to show me that he could. And with his other hand he lines himself up and pushes into me. I make a guttural noise that makes him smile, and makes him squeeze harder, making it difficult for me to inhale. He thrusts sharply, making me whimper again. He's stretching me, there's some dirty friction and he squeezes even harder, using both hands.  
He bows over me, spreading my legs further open on the bed to accommodate him, and I'm beginning to get light-headed from his hands closing off my wind pipe. My own arms are stretched over my head, still bound together, and I feebly try to bring them down. He lets up only a second to shove my arms back down, letting me gulp down a breath before squeezing my throat shut again, picking up a harsher pace, thrusting in and pressing down on my neck. My eyes are spilling over again, my vision blurring and fading at the edges, I'm going limp, and he just goes on pummeling into me. I feel like an object, and my insides where he's rubbing are the only part of me still lit up.  
“Hang in there, Darling,” he mutters, and his breath is coming ragged, more than he usually shows of his desire.  
I'm on the brink of unconsciousness, and he must know it because after another few hard thrusts, he lets go of my throat with a heavy sigh.  
He pulls out of me, too, and turns me over onto my front while I'm gulping down air, stopping only to wheeze, “You bastard.”  
“You're right,” he says, “How inconsiderate of me. You wanted everyone to hear you scream, isn't that right?”  
I slump on the bed. His hand twists in my hair and pulls me taught, and his face is pressed down near mine.  
“I wonder, can we make sure Bill Haskel hears you scream, all the way out in the mud?”  
“Leave him ah-.” I begin, but he puts a finger in my ass and I moan over the last words.  
“Maybe I owe him my thanks,” he says, working that finger in and out. “He must not have done it for you, if you came crawling back to me a few days later.”  
He stretches me open with a second finger, and I whimper, arching my back a bit steeper, so that my ass is a bit higher.  
The Count lands a stinging slap on my ass, making me clench around his fingers.  
“Like a bitch in heat,” he muses, and removes his fingers, lining himself up. Before he pushes in though, he pauses with the head of his dick resting between my cheeks and I hear him spit.  
My hands bound in front of me are rubbing raw on the rope. I'm mesmerized by that sensation for a moment, so I'm surprised when I feel the Count pushing into me from behind. He gets as far as the head and then stills, feeling the strain of my sensitive outer ring of muscle. I try to focus on breathing, in and out, but then he shoves in another inch and I choke out a shaky cry. It's a burning, the stretch and the push and pull as he withdraws just a bit.  
His hands run down my back, on either side of my spine. Then he rubs down my sides, almost lovingly, but then his hands are on my thighs, spreading them apart even further and pushing back inside the inch he had withdrawn and a bit further, too. I'm clenching around him and he groans at the feeling.  
My entire body is trembling, I'm whimpering every rapid exhale of breath, and my clit is throbbing. It's making me delirious. He braces his hands on my hips, and pulling me back, spearing me on him, and forcing his way deeper into my tight channel, he reaches the end of his length and is completely seated inside me.  
We both moan at the same moment.  
When he finally moves again, his withdraw is slow. I have a moment to be surprised that he is taking it so easy on me before he slips out entirely. His hand twists in my hair and he yanks my legs out from under me, and I yelp as I hit the mattress. He uses one hand to part my cheeks again and angles his hips so he can force his way back in, and the new angle and the friction, and the same stretch of my outer ring finally drags the first of his promised screams from me.  
He pulls all the way out again, and shoves himself back in again.  
Then, hunched over, with his weight above me, he starts his hard fucking. The bed squeaks with every thrust, and up by where my hands are wringing the sheets, the headboard starts to clash with the papered wall.  
“What is it about us-,” he managed, between desperate breaths, “-that makes us need to take each other to pieces?”  
I'm insensible, squirming and choking on my screams, trying to keep them from taking over. The balance of pleasure and pain is maddening. Something about it changed my mind for good, a long time ago, and now it's the only thing that will do. I can barely make out what he's saying as he continues his brutal pace.  
“I know that from-,” he slaps my ass again, hard enough that I have to stop my keening calls for a moment just to gasp, “-first time- I saw you...” His other hand is in my hair still, shoving my face down into the mattress. “-I wanted to- put you in your place.”  
He stops suddenly, fully seated inside me, and forces a hand between my body and the mattress so that he can reach my clitoris, which he gives a pinch. It sends me over and my screams fill the room as loud as I've ever screamed before, while -with all my muscles contracting, the Count thrusts hard into me a few more times and I feel the spurt of his warm seed in my ass.  
As an afterthought, still inside me but beginning to soften, he hunches over and places a hard bite on my neck.  
My mind is still fuzzy but as he slips away and begins to dress, I turn, realizing how sore I already am, a full-body kind of sore.  
“What about-.”  
He gestures to my neck. “-Those are our kisses, Darling.”  
None of the rest could ever make me truly hate him, but this does. All at once, like something sent from God, the anger boils up in me. With still-bound hands, I grab a bottle of whiskey off the bedside table and hurl it with all my might, but it misses and shatters on the far wall.  
He reaches out faster than I can blink, and has got me by the hair again, dragging me off of the bed and onto shaky legs.  
“Get your clothes on, time to go.”  
Producing a knife, he slices the rope he bound my hands with. Then he bends and picks up my pants, and shirt, and flings them at me.  
The anger resides and I feel only numb as I tug them on. He has let me stay the night with him before, and I had been hoping this would be one of those times. But then I'm out the door, in the hall, and starting down the stairs on wobbly legs.  
The music is done for the night, but there are still people gathered there, and none of them bother pretending not to look at me. The Count's men are still sitting at their table. The black man tips his hat to me. They chuckle at that.  
The only thing that I can do is shake off my shame and walk out of the place with my head held high.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I had to walk a line here between how sadistic the Count ought to be and how sadistic I was comfortable making him.  
> Also I must have gotten carried away because it's twice as long as chapter one.  
> Also there's going to be a third chapter where we make everything okay.


End file.
